Brittle Shadows (25 page)

“Hang on a
sec,” she said to her phone caller.

She pressed the
door release button with her other hand. Ash’s face disappeared from the
monitor. He would be at her door any minute.

“Sorry about
that.”

“Jemma, it’s
Marcus Bartlett.”

“I hope you
have that wife of yours on a chain.”

“What?”

“She’s not
stupid. She knows you’re having an affair. Unfortunately, she thinks it’s me.”

He guffawed.

“It’s not
funny. I suggest you get it sorted pronto. Anyway, I can’t talk now. Ash has
just arrived.”

“Actually,
that’s why I called. Have you said anything to him about Tanya’s shares in
Bartlett Developments?”

“I haven’t had
a chance.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Please, Jemma,
it’s not a lot to ask.”

A knock at the
door. “I have to go.”

“Promise me.”

“Okay, okay, I
won’t say anything – for now. You better have a bloody good reason, though.”

“I do,” he said
as she opened the door to his son. “Call me.”

The line went
dead.

She ushered Ash
in. “What have I done wrong this time?”

“Nothing.”

“Why the long
face, then?”

“Tired,” he
said, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s what trying to keep
Fen in check does to you. She got her second wind not long after I spoke to
you. Party, party, party.”

It sounded
familiar. “Industrial strength coffee coming straight up.”

“You’re a mind
reader.” He traipsed into the kitchen behind her. “I called around last night,
but you weren’t here.”

She whirled
around, narrowly missing poking his eye out with the coffee scoop. “What?”

“Don’t shoot
me.”

She lowered her
plastic weapon.

“You might have
been asleep, of course. It was after ten. Fen insisted you had some hot date,
but when she’s had a few, it’s hard to know what’s real and what’s made up.”

“So Fen was
with you?” Jemma asked, turning back to the coffee pot.

“Someone had to
keep her out of trouble. Since Tanya died, Fen’s behavior has become
increasingly reckless. It’s as if she doesn’t care what happens to her
anymore.”

“Ash the
guardian angel, eh? I hope she realizes how lucky she is to have a friend like
you.”

He lounged
against the kitchen bench. “What about you? Do you have any guardian angels
looking out for you?”

“Not any that
you can see,” she said, pouring boiling water on the coffee grounds.

“You never did
tell me why you were asking Fen about men with spider tattoos,” Ash said.

She froze.

Ash ripped off
his shirt to reveal a smooth, well-defined chest.

Her jaw dropped.
“What are you doing?”

“Proving to you
I don’t have a tattoo.” He unzipped his jeans.

“I believe you,
I believe you.”

He threw back
his head and laughed. “That look is priceless.”

She fanned her
face. “Yeah, well, it’s not every day a man starts stripping off in my
kitchen.”

“I had to get
my point across somehow.” He rescued his shirt from the floor.

“Which is?” She
couldn’t resist.

“Obviously not
well enough.” He tossed the shirt aside.

“I take it
back.” She held up her hands in surrender. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s got into
me today.”

“Whatever it
is, I’ll have some. Make it a double.”

She shoved a
cup of coffee at him. “Start with this. Milk’s in the fridge. I’ll bring the
biscuits.”

Settled at
opposite ends of the couch, supping coffee and gazing at the day outside, their
conversation soon fell into a comfortable lull. From day one, she had always
found Ash easy to be around. Except when Fen had her prods out, of course. Then
she never knew what to expect.

Halfway through
their second cup, Ash’s tone changed. “Jemma, look at me for a minute.”

She turned her
head. His clear blue eyes fixed her in his gaze.

“Do you trust
me?”

“It goes both
ways. Do you trust me?” she asked, twisting the question back on him.

“Yes.”

“Really? Are
you sure about that?”

“Yes,” he
repeated, more emphatic this time.

She shifted in
her seat, unfolding her legs. “Okay then, if you trust me so much, tell me why
me talking to Fen about men with tattoos got you so agitated you had to get
your kit off. It was a private conversation. You were eavesdropping.”

“Because I
wanted you to see you could confide in me as much as Fen. More probably. At
least I don’t get pissed and start shooting my mouth off.”

Jemma swallowed
a mouthful of tepid coffee. “Trust, like respect, has to be earned. True, I
never used to think that way, but times change. Gone are the days when I
trusted everyone unless – or until – they gave me reason not to. Instinct tells
me you’re one of the good guys, Ash, but I haven’t even been able to trust my
own judgment of late.” She laid her hand on his knee. “So, please don’t take it
personally. One step at a time, eh?”

The corners of
his wide mouth twitched, lifting in a slow grin. “Who made you so wise?”

Wise wasn’t the
word she would have used. The anonymous flowers and warning letter, combined
with Chris’s cautionary approach, had more to do with it. “Know that
expression, once bitten, twice shy?”

“I don’t bite.”

“And do you
know what? I actually believe you.”

“Finally!” He
cupped his hands around his mouth like a megaphone. “One small step for Jemma
Dalton, one giant leap for Ash Bartlett.”

She laughed.

“That’s
better,” he said, lolling back against the armrest, a self-satisfied smile on
his face.

Hysterical
laughter erupted unbidden from deep inside her. Her face contorting, her
emotions crumbling, she fought to rein it in. Uncontrolled, her mania rose to a
crescendo, pitching her over the other side. She buried her face in her hands,
her wails escaping from between her fingers.

“Oh, fuck.
Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it.”

She felt his
fingers on her shoulder. His touch acted like a catalyst, releasing a torrent
of pent-up grief. She threw herself at him, burrowing her face in his chest.
His arms tightened around her. She clung to him, too scared to let go in case
she fell.

Her lips found
his.

Framed in the balcony’s glass
doors, the city lights looked like a sluggish screensaver. She tossed aside the
blanket covering her clothed body, letting the built-up heat escape, and rolled
onto her back. She didn’t remember Ash leaving. How long had he held her in his
arms?

Her stiff
muscles protesting with every movement, she eased herself up and switched on
the table lamp. Scrunched tissues littered the side table. God, what must Ash
think of her? She pulled a fresh tissue from the box and blew her nose.

A yellow
Post-it pad and pen lay in the light next to her mobile phone. She pulled it
toward her. A note from Ash asking her to call, no matter the time. Her phone
read 23:11. What could she say to him that wouldn’t come out sounding inane? An
apology would be a good start, said a little voice in her head as she pushed
herself to her feet and headed for the bathroom.

It was closer
to midnight when she plucked up the courage to call Ash.

“Jemma,
sweetheart. How are you feeling now?”

“Embarrassed.”

“Why? What’s to
be embarrassed about? Nothing happened.”

“Only because
you didn’t let it.”

“I would never
take advantage of a vulnerable woman. Never.”

“A gentlemen
through and through.” Tears pricked her eyes. She sniffed. “I’m sorry you had
to go through that.”

“There’s
nothing to be sorry about. What are friends for?”

She only wished
someone had told Ross that. Weepy females panicked him. He couldn’t get away
fast enough. “You don’t know how much that means to me. Oh, and sorry about the
shirt, too.”

He chuckled.
“It’ll dry.”

“Anyway, I
should let you get back to bed.”

“I’m just glad
you’re okay. Now remember, I’m here for you if you need me. Call me – day or
night, it doesn’t matter.” He paused. “I mean that, Jemma.”

“I know,” she
whispered. “Goodnight.”

Without Ash’s
solid presence, the apartment felt empty, hollow. Like her. She held up her
hands to the light, half-expecting to see straight through them, their
substance gone.

Unable to
settle, she drifted from room to room, running her fingers along the walls and
doors. Solid walls. Solid doors. No escaping them or the shadows of her mind.
Not until she laid her sister’s memory to rest.

She stood in
the study doorway, gazing into the darkened room. The laptop’s green power-on
light drew her in. Certain that the DVD harbored a clue, she lifted the
laptop’s lid, rousing the operating system from its hibernation, and pulled up
the chair. Tanya had to have concealed the DVD for a reason. Why else keep
evidence of her dead fiancé’s promiscuity? Who was she hiding it from, though?
And why? Insurance? She replayed the QuickTime file frame by frame, hoping an
answer might leap out at her.

All it did,
however, was reinforce her opinion of Sean Mullins. Why hadn’t Tanya been able
to see through him? Everyone else had. “I hope the bastard at least used
protection,” she muttered to herself, before realizing how absurd that sounded.
What’s a sexually transmitted disease between corpses?

She opened the
still image she had captured and studied it. Hoping a different perspective
might help, she rotated the picture in 90-degree steps. It was definitely a
spider of some sort, and not a spindly daddy-long-legs, either. “As if,” she
scoffed.

What was it
they said about talking to yourself? She made a copy of the image and opened
the editing toolbar. Mad or not, she couldn’t expect to unravel the mystery of
the DVD on her own. A tattoo of a spider meant something to Ash, but she knew
the only way he would confide in her, is if she gave something up first. Give
and take.

She cropped the
image so all that was visible was the tattoo, and emailed it to him with a
message to phone her. She thought about forwarding him the link she had sent
Chris as well, but then dismissed it. All in good time. She needed him to see
the tattoo in isolation first.

With little
left for her to do until she heard from Ash – or Chris – she went to raid the
refrigerator. As her aunt was always pointing out, she couldn’t run on empty
forever. Running? She groaned. Her next session with Kerry was less than six
hours away.

Her ringing
phone shattered the night stillness. She jumped, almost dropping the two eggs
in her hands, and rushed to silence it. In her experience, late night calls
equated to bad news.

“God, Ash, what
are you doing ringing at this hour?”

“Probably the
same reason you’re emailing at this hour.”

“I didn’t
expect to hear from you until tomorrow, or should I say today. Can’t you
sleep?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t the reason behind his insomnia.

“I could ask
you the same question.”

“You could,”
she said, taking the phone over to the couch. “But you probably know the
answer. Talking of which, what did you make of that picture I sent you? I’m
assuming that’s why you called.”

He laughed. “No
beating around the bush with you, is there?”

“Not when it’s
the middle of the night.”

“True,” he
said. “Okay then, how about you start by telling me where it came from?”

“Not fair. I
sent you the picture. I get to ask the first question. Quid pro quo.”

“If that’s how
you want to play it, truth or dare?”

“What?”

“Sorry,” he
said, after a moment’s pause. “I turn into a smart-arse after midnight. Go on,
ask away.”

“I know the
tattoo’s not yours, but do you recognize it?”

“I’m not trying
to be evasive here,” he said, “but I really can’t say one way or the other.
What you’ve sent me isn’t much to go on. Is that hazy picture all you have?”

She hesitated.
He had proved himself trustworthy on one level. Could she take the next step?
“No, there’s more: a rather distasteful DVD of Sean with another man, but that
man’s face is never facing the camera. His only distinguishing feature is that
tattoo on his right shoulder.” She heard Ash’s sharp intake of breath. “You
know who it is, don’t you?”

“I can’t be
sure. Where did it come from?”